


Bloody Offerings

by Spoon888



Series: Twitter Warm Up Prompt Fills [9]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination, Blood and Gore, Courtship, Cultural Differences, Decapitation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:22:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Starscream is a generous suitor, Megatron hasn't slept soundly in three weeks, and everything is covered in blood.It's a courtship. Vosian style.
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream (Transformers)
Series: Twitter Warm Up Prompt Fills [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719604
Comments: 60
Kudos: 312





	Bloody Offerings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [badskeletonpuns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/badskeletonpuns/gifts).



> For @wendymakespuns on twitter

Megatron stepped through the open doorway into the lavish throne room of his Kaon fortress and grimaced at the sudden unpleasant chill that came from the sensation of stepping in a puddle. Thanks to experience, he knew immediately what the liquid was composed of. 

"Soundwave!" He bellowed at the top of his vocaliser, too flustered to bother with his comm-link. "He's done it again!" 

There was a clatter of armour and hurried allegro of heavy footsteps as Soundwave came marching out of the library, stopping at a supply closet to activate the cleaning drones as he went. 

Megatron lifted his soiled pede and gave it a shake, sending little splatters of congealed energon across the floor. In the grand scheme of things a few extra specks wouldn't matter much as the length of the polished floor was covered in a trail of pink pools and drips, leading right up to the throne itself, the armrests of which were occupied by two dismembered hands. 

Megatron was careful to dodge the energon but his damp pede left sticky pink prints as he approached the raised dais hosting his throne, the frantic cleaning drones scrambling to wipe up after him.

The hands in question were relatively small, dainty almost. Their finish flawless and the seams and joints immaculate. They were clearly hands that had never handled anything tougher than a crystal cube, let alone ever worked a days labor in their life. 

"This wasn't an Autobot Enforcer," Megatron grumbled, peeling the stiff fingers away from the armrest with a grimace. "Check the news stations and to see which senator he's assassinated." 

He held the hand up for Soundwave's inspection, turning it over, "Unless you recognise them?" He queried sarcastically. 

Soundwave said nothing. 

Megatron tossed the hand down at his feet, where the cleaning drone greedily hoovered it up. "Have someone check my quarters," Megatron added, moving on to the second hand. "And look under the berth sheets this time. I don't want a repeat of what happened after Mercer's butchering." 

Soundwave nodded and left to act on his orders, leaving Megatron with his sticky floor and pink stained throne, wondering how best to deal with Starscream's ...unique methods for presenting his kills. 

Deadlock took _pictures_ for proof, for Primus's sake, and only of identifying marks. Megatron never once had to wrinkle his nose at the sharp stink of spilt energon after _he'd_ completed an assignment, let alone climbed into his berth after an exhausting day to find himself lying next to the Senator from Tetrahex's _decapitated_ _head_.

But deranged though he may be, Starscream was an irreplaceable asset when it came to seeking out and eradicating his enemies. He was quick, three times the speed of sound quick, and more importantly he was recklessly savage with his kills. 

He was the pretty, dark, smirking face the news outlets in Autobot controlled city-states splashed all over their holoscreens to remind the people of the lawlessness of the Decepticon movement. The unspoken threat of a visit from the infamous prince-who-would-never-be-king had Decepticon naysayers swiftly turning into Decepticon _patrons_. Fear was their greatest weapon, and like a double-sided coin, Starscream terrorised the elite like Megatron inspired the broken. He couldn't do without him. 

But he was also a fickle, arrogant, little creature, who had once set fire to the east wing armoury and disappeared for two weeks all because Megatron had had the audacity to tell him that pearl-white and sky-blue were not Decepticon colours, and that he'd be better off taking direction from his trine-mate Skywarp. It had taken the promise of a position in high command to bring him back. 

(A small price to pay- Megatron would have given him Second in Command if he'd needed to, however difficult to live with it would have made the seeker.) 

Starscream could very well leave altogether if Megatron turned his nose up at his eccentrically gruesome 'gifts'. 

He activated his comm link, "Scrapper, upgrade the door locks for my private rooms." 

There was a noise of confusion over the line, " _But sir, we just did-"_

"Just do it again!" 

* * *

Starscream must have flown in through the barred, force-field covered window because max-security lock or no, Megatron entered his private washroom one morning and found the Prime's Chief Political Consultant sitting in his oil bath. 

Well, _some_ of him. His helm, and the spinal strut attached to it. 

Half asleep, Megatron wandered around and inspected it. The brain module was missing out of the back of the head, which meant Starscream had stashed that somewhere for him to find later. 

It was like being trapped in the horrifically tank-churning sort of scavenger hunt only Unicron himself could have conceived of. 

And yet he hadn't. _Starscream_ had. 

* * *

  
The week after a memorable occasion in which he had opened the case for his fusion cannon only for an avalanche of various small body parts to come falling out - including but not limited to denta, optics, fingers, helm fins, and a chevron- Megatron reassured himself that it couldn't possibly get any worse because the seeker had to be running out of ideas by now.

He was reluctant to voice anything more than mild annoyance, and even then only over the inconvenience of the mess Starscream's gifts caused. He had created something of a persona for himself among his mecha and Starscream's barbaric disregard for the mortal remains of his victims helped to promote that. 

There was an element of hypocrisy in it as well. How often had _he_ ripped off an opponent's head and held it up for the gawking optics of his audience?

At least _twice_ , to his memory. 

Of course, that sort of behaviour should stay in the Pit, and not come waltzing into his private quarters to hang a pair of shredded wings over his berth like _bunting_. 

A full three weeks into the worst of Starscream's behaviour, Megatron was taking his mind off things by going over field reports in one of the old libraries now repurposed into a Situation Room - when he was joined by the very cause of his rising gasket-pressure. 

He straightened out of a position hunched over the data-pads, his spark pulse picking up in surprise.

He hadn't seen Starscream for some weeks, only the remains of his victim's, scattered methodically about the fortress. It was always a surprise to remember how ... _bright_ he was, especially against the backdrop of the fortresses's dull metal walls. It didn't seem natural that so murderous a spark could exist in such a heavenly frame. 

But it did, because low and behold, Starscream had one of his victims with him now. 

"Starscream," Megatron greeted diplomatically, pre-emptively gathering up the data-pads should bloodied parts suddenly come flying at the table. "Another job well done. You can take the remains down to the recycling station-"

"Oh, that would be rather premature, wouldn't it?" Starscream smirked, striding into the room, dragging his quarry across the floor behind him with a hand hooked into it's clavicle seam. 

And it was that movement that caused Megatron realise that the body wasn't, in fact, an deactivated husk, but still very much alive. 

Megatron stepped around the table, surprised to see the Praxian Treasurer blinking up at him from behind a gag-lock. His hands and pedes were bound with cables tied so tight they were smeared pink where they were cutting into his wrists and ankles. He squirmed frantically at the sight of him, like he thought pleading to the Terror of Kaon brought him better chances of survival than the mercy of the Vosian Prince did. 

He was right, but only fractionally. 

"I have no use for this one alive," Megatron reminded Starscream, wondering if there had been a miscommunication. 

And even if there had, it had been the wrong thing to say. 

"Of course," Starscream smiled with straight, white, dazzling teeth, and before Megatron could do anything to stop him, yanked the Treasurer's helm back and drew a laser blade across his throat cabling, severing the brain-module stem and the main fuel line in one viscous swipe. 

Energon spurted, and the shock of it splashing into Megatron's face, chest, _and_ data-pads caused his processor to glitch and reset.

When he came to, Starscream was standing in front of him proudly, chin up, expressive optics wide and bright, a juxtaposition to the dead Treasurer hanging lifelessly from his hand and pink energon speckling up the right side of his face. 

Megatron was drenched in it. He could feel it drip off the end of his nose and edge of his jaw. 

"Thank you-" he said stiffly, too unsettled to summon any anger for the state of the room, and his armour, and the _field reports_. "-for that _riveting_ display." 

Starscream let the Treasurer clatter to the floor between them, not giving his lifeless frame a second look. "I take it you accept?" 

Megatron blinked. "Accept what?" 

"My proposition," a note of impatience had made it into Starscream's voice. 

A proposition? For what? To have himself committed? 

Another drop of energon dripped off the end of Megatron's nose. 

Time was running out to answer. Starscream folded his arms over his chest, and Megatron recalled a time when the seeker had thoughtfully upgraded his fusion cannon to output twenty-percent more fire power, and when he hadn't noticed the improvement Starscream had spiked the main energon stores with anti-freeze and had had half the fortress's garrison curled up on the floor, suffering severe cramps for a week. 

"Yes," Megatron said, simply to preserve life, his and others. "I accept." 

Starscream's helm tilted, "You could be a little more enthusiastic about it." 

Megatron felt a little spark of irritation rise in him. Good, it meant his emotional core was back to functioning normally, "Enthusiasm? After you murdered the Praxian Treasurer and got his energon all over the field reports?!"

Starscream's lips pursed together moodily. "Was he not important enough for you?" 

"That is besides the point-"

"You're impossible to please," Starscream was suddenly angry. At _him_. When _he_ was the one covered in an Autobot sympathiser's blood! "I spent an hour peeling the armour off the CFO of the Tarnite Oil company and I didn't get a word of thanks. I still have his energon under my claws-" 

Ah yes, Megatron remembered that one. But Starscream hadn't _just_ removed the armour from poor Skullduggery's protoform, he'd reassembled it again as an eerily hollow shell and stationed it upright against a data-file shelve in the library. In the _poetry_ section at that. 

"Fine!" Starscream threw up his bloodied hands, "I'll do it again. Is the Prime's Aid important enough for you?" 

Megatron was confused, "She's in the capital. You won't be able to reach her." 

Starscream tutted, "I'll find a way. Especially if it means I can finally get my courting claim on you." 

He turned on his heel and marched out of the room, leaving Megatron behind in the carnage he had created. Alone and frazzled, Megatron nudged the body at his feet defeatedly. 

When it struck him. 

"Courting claim?!" 


End file.
